


Permanent Petals : Mood

by RubyFiamma



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Based on a Fanfiction, Blow Jobs, Boyfriend Tattoos, Boys In Love, Domestic Fluff, Fanfiction of Fanfiction, Fluff and Smut, Inspired by Fanfiction, Love Tattoos, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Positions, Tattoos, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-05-28
Packaged: 2018-04-01 17:43:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4028944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RubyFiamma/pseuds/RubyFiamma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gokudera wakes up in a great mood and nothing's better than spending it with someone he loves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Permanent Petals : Mood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tastewithouttalent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Permanent Petals](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3347327) by [tastewithouttalent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent). 



> _For[Kat](http://tastewithouttalent.tumblr.com), who wrote me the most beautiful story because I was sad, simply because she is the most beautiful person and best friend a girl could ever have ♥_

**Mood**

* * *

 

It isn’t that Gokudera wakes up in bad moods, in fact for the last few years waking up has been as pleasant as getting a full night’s sleep; no more shadowed insomnia plaguing the soft pale underneath his eyes, no more jittery and short cut patience – he is currently very content with his sleeping arrangements in this moment and all other moments that have passed and ones he has to look forward to in the future.

It just so happens though, that when he opens his eyes _this_ particular morning, the yellow glow of the sun filtering in through the sheer bedroom curtains and the chirping birds outside the window suddenly have him appreciating life and the earth and the air he breathes; life’s simplicities that usually get ignored under the busy and oppressing strain of modern living.

But he’s guessing the warm body fitted along the contours of his own are more than ninety-nine percent of the reason, and when Yamamoto kisses his shoulder, it’s so fluttering soft he can barely feel it yet it blooms heat in his chest like a waking spring flower.

“Morning,” he says with a voice warm and sleepy soft and Gokudera shudders with the heat of Yamamoto’s breath falling onto his skin.

“Morning,” Gokudera replies without his usual grunt, turning his just enough to meet Yamamoto’s mouth with the corner of his own. He tastes like the sunshine itself, and soaking in the rays only serve to improve his mood and he’s hardly able to contain the swelling pressure that continues to expand in his chest.

“Sleep well?” Yamamoto asks, resting his chin on Gokudera’s shoulder and pressing himself impossibly close so that Gokudera can feel the hard line of his length through the thin linen bedsheet that’s tangled around his waist suffocatingly separating them. Yamamoto already knows the answer to that but he humours him anyways, because he’s always slept better in this bed, _their_ bed – even though Gokudera knows the actual bed has got nothing to do with it. He’s in a really _great_ mood.

“Of course I did.” Gokudera smiles easy, shifts on his back and looks up to catch the sun illuminating the gold of Yamamoto’s skin. “Did you?”

“Mm,” Yamamoto hums when he dips his head in to press his lips against the expanse of Gokudera’s collarbone. “Yep. I always sleep good when I sleep next to you.”

He can feel the grin against his skin, can tell that Yamamoto is about to laugh when he digs his fingers into the mess of Yamamoto’s bed hair and huffs a laugh himself. “Sap. Isn’t that every day?”

“Yep.” Yamamoto shifts so that he’s hovering over Gokudera’s chest, his mouth reaching the tip of Gokudera’s other shoulder. The skin on skin contact is more than welcome, especially when Yamamoto’s knee brushes the underside of his own flushed cock and Gokudera’s breath comes a little faster in anticipation.

“I suppose you should get ready for work,” Gokudera comments as Yamamoto’s hand slides down his chest and his fingers splay across the bright blue swallow etched into Gokudera’s hip. He quivers under the touch, and tries hard to resist rocking up to seek friction when Yamamoto’s wrist bumps the head of his cock.

“I’m taking a personal day,” Yamamoto says brightly, the bubble of laughter making it’s way through rippled vibration against Gokudera’s neck as he kisses his way to the bottom of Gokudera’s chin.

“Is that so,” Gokudera murmurs distractedly to the top of Yamamoto’s head. It’s not like he needs a day away from the shop, they manage to spend more than enough time together and Yamamoto always sees to it that he’s well appreciated, but Gokudera isn’t going to complain. The thought of staying in bed entwined with the other all day does nothing to stall the rapid flutter of his heart or the charge of avidity that surges through his blood.

“Mhm,” Yamamoto counters without moving his lips off Gokudera’s skin. “Just going to spend the entire day appreciating your body.”

“God,” Gokudera groans, but it’s with less derision and disapproval muddled with embarrassment and more with an invitation of expectation and pleasurable promises of the future. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Because it’s the truth,” Yamamoto laughs against the crook of his shoulder and Gokudera snorts, distracts himself with the purple and gold of the other’s forearm as he trails his fingers up to the feathers that flare out and stretch across his bicep and shoulder.

“So we’re just going to stay in bed all day?” Gokudera asks, his breath catching on the end as Yamamoto gently pinches flesh between his teeth.

“Mhm,” Yamamoto answers, and Gokudera’s blood rushes hot with recollection of sensations drawn from their lazy Sunday mornings or the last of too many but never enough climaxes. His breath comes faster when Yamamoto’s knee grazes against bare skin, jolts him like a static shock and he can’t help arching up and gasping out, “ _Takeshi,_ ” as his hand drags up the wings of ink layered over the ribs of muscle in Yamamoto’s back.

“Even after all these years, you’re still so beautiful,” Yamamoto croons as he mouths the slender curve of Gokudera’s neck and he shivers with delectation when Yamamoto’s tongue traces the line of his jaw back to his ear.

“You say that as if we’ve been together forever instead of three,” Gokudera muses, eyes shut to the iridescent glow that fills the bedroom, shivering underneath the huffs of hot breath that spread across his skin.

“Feels like it,” Yamamoto laughs softly. His teeth clack against the metal rings that line the shell and he whispers, “Every single inch of you is beautiful.”

“Shut up and kiss me already,” Gokudera says, reaching for some edge of irritation but all that he manages is his voice dipping low in the back of his throat and Yamamoto kisses him, though he’s laughing, like a breathless giggle against Gokudera’s lips and Gokudera can’t keep his own from curling up. He’s _happy_ and he knows this is where he belongs, tangled up in Yamamoto like he’s his own warm, little niche in all this desolate space.

Gokudera doesn’t have the span of attention to pay to pretty metaphors and worry about the past; all that’s derailed on the warm slide of Yamamoto’s tongue across his half-parted lips and the ease of Yamamoto’s hand tracing over his chest and stomach. His fingertips skitter across the sharp lines and planes in his torso and curl under the bedsheets that are nothing but a nuisance in the moment now that they serve no purpose. Gokudera jumps on an inhale, fitting his own fingers in Yamamoto’s mussed hair, while Yamamoto murmurs, “ _I love you_ ,” each time their lips part.

“You’re ridiculous,” Gokudera chides as Yamamoto rocks back on his heels. He laughs, bright as the light filtering into the room, and peels the sheets from Gokudera’s lower half.

“Mm, I know.” With the sheets out of the way, Yamamoto’s sliding down his body, trailing a damp line down his chest and then Yamamoto’s mouth is dipping into the slight concave curve of his stomach and his chin bumps against the tip of Gokudera’s cock. He doesn’t ask and Gokudera doesn’t demand, he just moves his knees further apart to accommodate Yamamoto in the space and even then Yamamoto can’t keep his hands and mouth away, for he’s already layering kisses on the insides of Gokudera’s thighs, breathing quick and hot against skin and Gokudera’s shuddering as each huff of breath sends a ripple up his spine.

He breathes in sharply the second the heat of Yamamoto’s tongue touches his flesh, can’t stop the groan that rolls out of his throat. It gets worse, when Yamamoto fits his mouth around and starts stroking wet heat up his shaft and there is nothing left for Gokudera to do but lose himself to the sensation, his thighs trembling in Yamamoto’s hands. He can’t decide if he wants to thrust up into Yamamoto’s mouth or melt back into the bed but Yamamoto’s hands glide up and pin down his hips, his thumbs brushing over permanent petals and swallows alike.

When Yamamoto drags his teeth along the skin, Gokudera groans, and when Yamamoto stops to kiss up the flushed line of his cock, everything is warm and hazy and he’d be content if they just stayed like this, didn’t move save for lips on skin. He’s going to come but it’s too soon, mornings like this he wants to drag all the sensation out for as long as possible so he tugs at Yamamoto’s hair, just a subtle urge and props himself up on elbows while he watches as Yamamoto glances up at him and smiles around his cock. It takes everything in him not to come, but he knows restraint better than anything.

Yamamoto’s eyes are soft and smiling and Gokudera’s eyes can’t decide if they want to linger there or fall to the damp of Yamamoto’s lips, bruised red like ripe summer berries. He’s licking his own in foretaste, knowing that Yamamoto’s mouth tastes far better than anything else but Yamamoto’s made the decision for him, leaning in with his hands pressed against Gokudera’s thighs, to mesh their lips together. Yamamoto doesn’t stay for long, he’s pulling away but only far enough to kiss the tip of Gokudera’s nose, his forehead and into his hair and back down to his chest. It’s almost too much, this overwhelming heat and surge keeps him fighting between collapsing against the bed and taking control to set the pace himself; something hasty to ease the suffused adrenaline in his veins. For now, he can only concentrate on reaching out to wrap his hand around the back of Yamamoto’s neck and drag the other up to crush his mouth against the damp temptation.

He can taste the salt-flat of himself against the tip of Yamamoto’s tongue. Yamamoto’s humming, pushing Gokudera back against the headboard as he shifts forward so that he’s in Gokudera’s lap. The flare of bare friction makes Gokudera hiss and for a second there’s nothing but fog shrouding his lust addled brain. It’s not often he gets as distracted as this, but Yamamoto’s caught him on a day where he’s in a good mood and it’s first thing in the morning. It doesn’t help that Yamamoto’s turning his head to kiss the inside of his wrist and keeps moving, until he’s kissed up to Gokudera’s fingertips and then he’s sliding them into his mouth.

Gokudera’s blood ignites, like waves of electricity bursting through each synapse and he’s making a noise he can’t put a name to as liquid heat slides up and over his fingers. Gokudera shudders, his eyes caught on the flecks of gold alight in Yamamoto’s eyes and he can’t look away despite the heat that floods his cheeks. His lashes are thick, curtained over hazel in a half lidded gaze and his mouth is damp, curved around two of Gokudera’s fingers as he slides his mouth and tongue back against the skin.

“I want you,” Yamamoto hums, fingers still in his mouth, and Gokudera can’t stop the drop of his stomach and the stutter in his heartbeat before groaning throatily and pulling his fingers from the wet warmth of Yamamoto’s mouth.

He doesn’t trust his voice to speak, knows likely he’s void of any coherency at the moment, so he does all he can do, which is to crush his lips against the other’s and slide his fingers down Yamamoto’s spine until he’s smoothing them over the curve of Yamamoto’s ass and then brushing them against his entrance. The lube is in the drawer by the bed and it makes sense for things to move quickly and easily, but to reach for it, Gokudera would have to move from his position on the bed, and Yamamoto’s cock bumping off his quivering stomach and the breath that’s falling on his neck isn’t worth giving up for a little lube.

When he pushes one finger inside, Yamamoto ducks his head and exhales a rush of breath against his shoulder. Gokudera can feel Yamamoto’s lips move against his skin, hears him whispering, “Hayato… I love you,” barely loud enough for Gokudera to make out the words. But he doesn’t need to see or hear, he just _knows_.

“Love you too,” Gokudera purrs, pulling back to line up another finger to slide into Yamamoto’s heat, moving slow and stretching, meticulous in his movements to get the subtle rocking of Yamamoto against his fingers and breaking breath against his shoulder. Yamamoto’s shivering before he’s up to his second knuckles and he can feel the vibration of quivering muscle around his fingers. He can’t see Yamamoto’s face but he can see his eyes closed to the pleasure, mouth dropped open soft like he’s he’s lost all control of his senses. He hasn’t yet, Gokudera thinks, but he’s about to.

He doesn’t say that he’s ready, and he doesn’t ask Yamamoto if he is either but Gokudera’s stomach is sticky slick from the swollen head that bumps against it and Yamamoto’s hands are tightly gripped around his shoulders. He keeps going though, gliding friction languidly against the heat, and Yamamoto’s arching out at an angle hard for Gokudera to keep his grip; he’s trying for fast paced desperation, but Gokudera pushes up on his knees, lets Yamamoto arch against his hand settled at the small of the other’s back and crooks his fingers so that Yamamoto’s jerking and barely stable enough to support his own weight.

Yamamoto’s lids are fluttering, his mouth open like Gokudera suspected, and his breathing comes out in short successions. Gokudera lets his eyes trail down from the damp curve of his mouth to the ink spread across his shoulders and chest and finally down to Yamamoto’s obviously aching cock. Gokudera’s not in a position to touch it right now, he could if he lets Yamamoto fall back against the bed but he’d lose the beauty of the other arched back and shuddering in his grasp.

And then it comes, a broken whine, “Hayato – enough. I –” and Gokudera ignores his request for the want of drawn out pleasure until Yamamoto is nearly slack in his arms and gazing unseeing at the ceiling. His own cock is strained against the wait but it’s worth it, far more worth it when Yamamoto tenses as Gokudera crooks his fingers again and he’s spilling out in spasms across his chest, jerking against Gokudera’s hold. He doesn’t wait for Yamamoto to regain clarity, his hand is already sliding down to Yamamoto’s hip, and Yamamoto has to brace his hands against the bed, use his arms and legs to hold him upright as Gokudera grabs at his other hip and guides him down onto his cock, keeping up with this impromptu position Yamamoto seems to have come up with.

Yamamoto makes a noise, choked out and gasping. His muscles are tightly drawn, the feathers across his shoulders and biceps flexing, giving the illusion they’re preparing for flight. Gokudera can still feel the other’s legs shaking on either side of his waist. He lets out a groan as Yamamoto sinks down and his cock is enveloped in desired heat. Yamamoto throws his head back, moans “ _Hayato_ ,” to the ceiling and Gokudera has to pause before moving to soak in the lean stretch of Yamamoto’s body over the bed, fists balled and pressed into the mattress and the muscles in the other’s thighs go taut with the strength needed to support himself at this angle. Gokudera slides his own thighs further apart, the soft of the bed swallowing his knees as he rocks a bit back on his heels to prepare for the spring needed to thrust up into Yamamoto. He moves forward, slow at first because Yamamoto isn’t in an ideal position for anything fast – one hard thrust and Yamamoto’s arms will lock out underneath him and he’d fall to the bed. They wouldn’t lose anything that way, but Gokudera’s heart is hammering against his chest and all his blood is rushing in his ears at the sight of Yamamoto’s chest heaving and head fallen back between his shoulders. He’s pushing down to meet with Gokudera’s thrusts, moaning breathlessly between quakes passing through his body and Gokudera can feel each one in the knees that knock against his sides. His grip is tight, his fingers pressing hard into Yamamoto’s hips, his fingertips bound to leave bruises spread out on his skin the colour of the swirls of gold and purple that spiral up Yamamoto’s arms. He’s sliding back slow and pushing in deep and every time he hilts, Yamamoto’s choking his name.

Then Yamamoto shifts, holds himself up on one arm as he reaches for Gokudera’s shoulder. He leans in, Gokudera stalls with his hands coming around to hold against Yamamoto’s sides.

“Oh fuck,” he breathes when he can see the other features clearer now. Yamamoto’s expression is completely unfocused, dream-hazed and loose. His eyes are shuttered but Gokudera can see the crescent moons of hazel eclipsed by the wide-blown black of Yamamoto’s pupils through his lashes. They’re darker than usual, clouded with thick-glazed pleasure and his mouth is dry and open in invitation for the damp of Gokudera’s tongue. He tips his head up to kiss Yamamoto as the other digs his fingers into Gokudera’s damp hair that’s matted to his neck. He holds steady on his legs as he rides Gokudera’s cock, licking against the roof of Gokudera’s mouth and whining, but Gokudera can feel the other’s legs quivering under the weight. His body is on fire, beads of sweat are trickling down his spine and his own legs are beginning to feel numb from leaning back on them. Yamamoto squeezes his shoulder and pulls back into an arch, grinding on Gokudera’s cock and for a second Gokudera can’t breathe and _you’re fucking beautiful_ is on the tip of his tongue but he doesn’t say it out loud. His mind is a mess, there’s thick and fog settling in and he’s feeling the fire coil in the pit of his stomach, tight and dizzying.

He can see Yamamoto’s cock is stiff once more, brushing up against the sticky sheen of his stomach and then Gokudera’s eyes are trailing up to Yamamoto’s chest to settle in on the letters of his name emblazoned in stark black calligraphy against the dusty gold of the other’s skin, just over his heart and Gokudera’s own heart is fluttering, elation and adoration sticking to his ribs in the best way.

There’s a growl that rumbles in his chest and works its way up his throat as he slides his hand up Yamamoto’s spine to push him upward and then he’s leaning forward and ducking in to kiss against the tattoo adorning the warm tan of Yamamoto’s skin. From there he uses his weight to push Yamamoto back, lets the soft of the mattress catch him at the foot of the bed and Gokudera’s looming over him, fitting himself between his splayed knees and thrusting deep enough that Yamamoto cries out. Gokudera’s leaning in, tucking his head into the crook of the other’s shoulder and tasting the salt collected on skin. Yamamoto’s fingers find their way into his hair again, tugging and pulling on the strands as he arches off the bed.

“ _Fuck Takeshi_ ,” Gokudera moans, rocking forward and vision wiping. “I love you.”

Yamamoto chokes, something unintelligible like his name and _love you_ garbled together, and Gokudera can feel the other tighten around him, clenching tight as his heels dig into Gokudera’s back and that’s it, he’s coming undone and his vision’s whiting out, filling Yamamoto with liquid heat just as laces of white spurt across his chest and Gokudera’s own. Everything is flaring hot and bright, and he’s collapsing boneless against Yamamoto while his body still shudders with the aftershocks of his orgasm. Gokudera’s being swept under wave after wave of euphoria and Yamamoto goes slack underneath him, his damp palms sliding slow across Gokudera’s shoulders, the heavy puffs of breath gust warm across his skin.

Gokudera rolls over and falls into place beside Yamamoto, his heart running rampant in his chest but he’s smiling as pieces of the room begin to collect in front of his eyes. Yamamoto hasn’t moved, hasn’t said a word but Gokudera can hear his breathing start to settle. He searches for Yamamoto’s hand, tangles his fingers with the other’s when he finds it and asks, “You okay?”

He doesn’t get a response right away, but Yamamoto squeezes his hand and hums delight before he starts to laugh. “Yeah.”

“What _was_ that?” Gokudera asks.

Yamamoto turns his head, presses a kiss to the side of Gokudera’s hair. “Dunno. I was in the mood to try something different.”

“In the mood, huh,” Gokudera echoes as Yamamoto moves to his side, props his head up on his hand and drops another kiss to Gokudera’s forehead. He’s staring down, smiling sheer sincerity at Gokudera like he rivals all the world’s most awe-striking wonders. It makes Gokudera’s cheeks burn, even still, to be under such scrutiny and he’s not sure if he’ll ever fully get used to the soft acceptance of Yamamoto’s eyes, but it’s a hell of a lot easier now.

“So are you making breakfast this morning?” Yamamoto asks, and the earnest smile shifts it’s way into a shit eating smirk that makes Gokudera reach up with his other hand to tug at the disheveled strands of the other’s dark hair.

Gokudera snorts disbelief. “Are you stupid? Remember all the other times I –”

“Practise makes perfect,” Yamamoto laughs and Gokudera has to push him back down on the bed and fight against joining him in his ridiculous fit of laughter. Well, revenge is a dish best served cold – or in the form of an inedible breakfast.

“You’re lucky I’m in a good mood,” Gokudera says, dipping in to press his lips against the other’s, with Yamamoto still laughing against his own. “I’ll cook breakfast, but don’t blame me when our kitchen burns down.”

“I wouldn’t even think of it,” says Yamamoto, grinning so wide, his eyes crinkle in the corners. “But you know, we could always have breakfast in bed,” he suggests, sliding under Gokudera’s arms so that he’s directly pinned in between them.

Gokudera gets the suggestion, swings a leg over Yamamoto’s hip and leans in to lick along the seam of Yamamoto’s lips in invitation. “Idiot. You’re definitely lucky I’m in a good mood.”

There’s a light chuckle and then Yamamoto’s wrapping his arms around Gokudera’s neck, fingers grazing against his scalp and Yamamoto’s pulling him in for another kiss.

“Nah,” he says when his lips and nose brush against Gokudera’s. “I’m just lucky to have you.”

Yamamoto is quite possibly this world’s biggest fucking sap but good mood or bad mood, Gokudera wouldn’t ask for anything different.


End file.
